


All Manner of Beasts

by Anonymous



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Cages, Captivity, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I wanted this to be so much smuttier than it turned out to be (because all of your prompts were amazing and deserved the absolute smuttiest best), but I hope you enjoy it anyway!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mornelithe_falconsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mornelithe_falconsbane/gifts).



> I wanted this to be so much smuttier than it turned out to be (because all of your prompts were amazing and deserved the absolute smuttiest best), but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Leave it to Maurice to come bursting in at just the wrong moment. Every single person had gone from singing Gaston's praises to staring in utter disbelief at his raving future father-in-law, and Gaston's eyed narrowed furiously at the intrusion. The old loon's mouth was running faster than that old beaten horse of his could ever dream of going, and for a moment, Gaston was content to simply ignore him--

\--and then he heard the words "locked in the dungeon" and "Belle". That caught his interest.

"Whoa, slow down, Maurice. Who has Belle locked in a dungeon?"

There was, of course, little to no chance of truth in it. Maurice had quite simply gone mad; his nonsense "inventions" made that painfully clear years ago. But if Gaston wanted Belle for himself, putting up with Maurice was at least temporarily necessary. So he might as well humor the man, even if Belle wasn't in any real danger. Whoever knew what might win over such a peculiar beauty as his soon-to-be wife?

"A beast! A horrible, monstrous beast!"

Maurice's hysterical shout echoed around the crowded room. Gaston's gaze flickered across the watching faces of the other patrons; there was disbelief etched into each and every expression, and it threatened to turn to laughter in a heartbeat.

Gaston bounded to his feet before it got the chance. "A beast?" he boomed, entirely willing to play along. What did he have to lose, after all? These people were already under his thumb; if anyone could convince them to buy into something so foolish as this, it was him alone. And he wouldn't be the one facing their judgment when it proved false. "What do you mean, a beast? Describe it, man!"

"It's horrifying! Taller than a bear, and stronger than a pack of wolves! Huge and massive and covered in fur--and he has Belle!"

A flicker of something less pleasant crossed Gaston's mind. Taller than a bear and stronger than a pack of wolves? Had Belle actually been attacked by some kind of animal, then? Was the most beautiful woman in town--Gaston's very future--already lost to the delusions of this kook?

"Well, my dear old man, we must get her back from this beast!" Gaston turned from the portly figure with a flourish, turning his attention to the townsfolk so clearly struggling to keep up with him. "I will gladly do what I can to recover my beloved Belle! She will be back before morning, I have no doubt." He offered them all another smug smile, just the way they liked. "And I'm sure we will bring back good news, as well."

When he turned back to Maurice, the utter terror in his expression was tinged with suspicion; apparently the man did not approve of what Gaston had implied.

(Frankly, that just made it all the more amusing.)

"Lead the way, Maurice," he said, gesturing lavishly toward the door. Hopefully this nonsense wouldn't take too long.

* * *

How he could've forgotten the castle, Gaston didn't know. But he remembered it now. It was from a bygone era, a memory so long lost that it predated his knowledge of the woman he had come to save. This castle had last been in his mind over a decade ago, and now that his gaze lay upon it once more, he didn't understand how it ever could have gone.

But that wasn't important. What mattered was Belle, and so far more and more of Maurice's foolish tale was proving to be true. There was a castle no one recalled in a forest few dared to traverse, and if that much could be true, perhaps there was some chance that Belle might really be in the clutches of a beast. 

At the very least, the dungeon's existence seemed much more likely than before.

"Are... are you sure you can save her?" came Maurice's worried voice, and Gaston could only roll his eyes. If he didn't think he could win the fight he might be walking into, he wouldn't be walking into it.

And, beast or no beast, he rather doubted that anything living in that castle could survive his gun.

"Of course I'm sure," Gaston all but snarled, his voice giving away far more tension than he would've liked to reveal. "No beast will be making off with our town's beauty, you can be sure of that." With a little sneer, he glanced down at the old man. "Don't follow me, Maurice. I don't need you getting in my way."

"But--"

"If you know what's good for Belle, you'll do what I tell you."

With his fingers tightly curled around his rifle, Gaston walked toward the sinister castle alone.

* * *

The door opened with an unsettling creak, and the hair on the back of Gaston's neck stood up as a thrill of dread rolled through him. What the utter hell was this place, he wondered, and what manner of beast could make a whole village forget a _castle_?

He readied his gun, heart pounding. This was no ordinary hunt. A hunt was a thrill, an exercise in predation that left Gaston feeling exhilarated by the rush of power. This, though... this was like walking into a lion's den. He was a hunter, yes, but he had never stalked prey like this. And he didn't even know what he was hunting.

With his footsteps echoing down stone corridors, Gaston made his way through the dimly-lit castle. It was almost impossible to see, but from what he could tell, there were no signs of life at all. And while that meant there were no signs of any horrible beasts, it also meant that Belle herself was nowhere to be found.

What if she wasn't even here?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Gaston let out a small snarl. It made sense, didn't it? Something was _wrong_ with this place, and something had always been wrong with Maurice; it made perfect sense that this was the kind of place the old fool would get tangled up in, and who was to say that Belle had anything to do with it? He had no proof at all that Belle was here, nor did there seem to be any clues. She was probably sitting at home, utterly unaware of her father's latest expedition into madness, and Gaston was the one being made into a fool.

He lowered his gun, let out another furious snarl, and smashed his heel against the wall in frustration. "That old fool... Belle was never here!"

Suddenly, as if summoned by his words, the most horrifying sound that Gaston had ever heard suddenly tore through the darkness. There was nothing like it in the world, and for a single instant, Gaston knew that this thing--whatever it was--must be a creature from the deepest, darkest Hell. No mortal beast could make that sound.

Nothing that mankind was meant to hunt could make a sound like that.

And then, piercing the shadows as sure and welcome as a ray of light, Gaston heard Belle.

"Gaston?"

He spun in the direction of her voice, lowering the gun in spite of his fear. The last thing he needed was to endure this nonsense, only to accidentally shoot his future wife.

"Belle!" He was rather pleased to hear neither tremor nor hesitance in his voice; his bravado, wavering though it may be, at least sounded true. "Where are you? It's too dark to see. Are you alright? Has the beast hurt you?"

Her laughter, sparkling and beautiful though it was, came as an unwelcome surprise. "Hurt me?" she repeated, and from the mirth in her tone, it was the most amusing thought she'd had in some time. "Why would he do a thing like that?"

There was a sinking feeling in Gaston's gut. Maurice, after all, was mad. And Belle... well, she starting to worry him now, too. Perhaps this insanity ran in the blood.

But all he could do was try. "Your hero is here to save you, Belle! Let's leave here before that monster realizes you're gone."

Still lurking somewhere in the shadows before him, Belle laughed once again. "Oh, Gaston," she said with a touch of fondness in her voice that sounded far too much like the kind of affection one might feel for a particularly dim-witted pet, "I never wanted a _hero_."

Those words, far too taunting for such a pretty voice, were the last thing Gaston heard before his head was slammed against the wall and his vision went black.

* * *

The next thing Gaston knew was movement.

The ground was moving underneath him like a river, but he wasn't floating. To be floating, he would have to be lying flat on his back in the water... but there was no water here, and he wasn't lying flat. No, his back was flat against stone, and the mess that had been made of his ponytail was just barely cushioning his head as his scrapped against the floor; his legs, meanwhile, were lifted into the air by two strong hands (were they even hands?) wrapped vise-like around his ankles, and when he opened his eyes, all he could see was a hulking shadow looming over him like a mountain.

He couldn't seem to move as it dragged him; his body wasn't responding to his will. And while nothing more terrifying than this had ever happened to Gaston, he couldn't seem to muster up the fear this situation deserved. He was too dazed by whatever had hit him--the beast? it must have been the beast--and so he simply let it drag him away.

His senses were frazzled, and he let his eyes flutter shut after he realized there was nothing more to see than that shadowy figure. He could hear clearly, though, and all there was to hear in the relative silence of the castle was the sound of his own body being dragged across the floor... and two distinctly different sets of footsteps.

One set, he could clearly tell, were the immense footfalls of the creature dragging him along. But the other? They were delicate and light, barely audible even in this quiet, and Gaston knew it was Belle.

The beast was dragging him off somewhere, and Belle was _following them_. What in God's name had Maurice lured him into?

* * *

After what could have been anywhere from seconds to minutes to hours--Gaston was far too dazed to keep track of time--he found himself being dragged through a doorway, and when he tilted his head back just so, he caught sight of the blurry vision of Belle stepping into the room behind him and closing--then _bolting_ \--a massive wooden door.

As the creature dragged him further into the room, Belle stepped out of Gaston's line of sight. She disappeared completely, her footsteps coming to a halt somewhere nearby, and Gaston heard a strange rustling sound (fabric, perhaps?) as he was suddenly heaved upward like a ragdoll and painfully tossed into...

_No._

He had been tossed into a _cage_.

Gaston scrambled to sit up as a squeaky metal door swung shut behind him, locking him into a claustrophobic space enclosed by bars on all sides. His heart raced, panicked and desperate and utterly unable to understand how completely his life had just turned on its head.

He had stepped into this castle as the hunter, and now he couldn't have been more clearly the prey. He was caught in a trap like so many animals he himself had killed, and there was something so fundamentally _wrong_ about it that for a moment, his brain simply refused to believe it was true.

With great effort, Gaston finally hauled himself upright and propped his back against the harsh metal bars of his newfound prison. He stared out the way he'd come in, and his gaze settled upon the frightening form on the other side of the room.

There was nothing like it in the world. It was every bit as massive as its shadow had implied, but the shadow could never have given a proper glimpse of the true horror of the beast. It was some ungodly and horrifying mix of a lion and a bear and a wolf, and Gaston reached blindly for his gun before realizing that of course it was lost to him, left behind in the hall where he had been attacked.

He was powerless, and that was a strange, foreign, and utterly paralyzing fact.

"Are you sure he's going to be alright?" Belle's gentle voice broke the silence, and Gaston narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on her. She didn't look quite right to him; he could see the vague outline of her figure, but there was something wrong with it. The coloring? The shape of her? He couldn't quite tell, and that infuriated him.

"He'll be fine."

That came as a surprise. Not the claim itself--though, of course, Gaston was perhaps foolishly pleased to hear that his attacker expected him to survive--but that the monster could speak at all. Had Maurice mentioned that? He couldn't recall... but, then again, he spent so little time listening to Maurice's rambling nonsense.

"Good," Belle said, and Gaston's eyes narrowed. He was so close to figuring out what was wrong with her, and yet he still couldn't quite put his finger on it. "I'd hate to think we hurt him."

 _Hurt him._ The words seemed to stick in his psyche, their echoes chasing one another around his mind. Belle had laughed at the idea of the beast hurting her, he recalled hazily. It was all so odd. Why did she think that they were--or at least that she was--safe? 

"We're not safe until that Beast's head is mounted on my wall..."

The words came out before Gaston had ever realized he'd thought them,and it was when Belle suddenly turned to look at him that he realized what was wrong with her. 

Belle was staring at him from across the room, standing unabashedly at the side of a horrible, massive beast, and she didn't have a single stitch of clothing on her pale, smooth flesh.

Gaston's stomach roiled at the implications... and they didn't remain implicit for long.

Right before Gaston's eyes, Belle leaned toward the monster that had taken them captive, and her open, easy posture beckoned the creature in as surely as a dinner bell. Gaston dreaded to think what he might be about to witness--surely this monstrous thing would kill her as soon as touch her luscious flesh--and yet somehow all his thoughts of violence and evisceration couldn't compare in magnitude of horror to the sight of Belle--gorgeous, foolish Belle--pressing her delicate lips against the horrific maw of that creature.

A deep rumble rolled about the room, sending yet another thrill of terror up Gaston's spine. What that--? _It couldn't be!_ What that _arousal_ he was hearing in that monstrous thing's voice? He could think of no more horrifying thought.

"Belle!" he managed to croak out when her sweet face drew back from her monstrous beau's. "What has this creature done to you? Surely even your father wouldn't have sold your future to such a beast as this!"

There wasn't much he could do to save her now, he knew, but that didn't make the thought of defeat any easier. He _wanted_ to save her, if nothing else; and yet there wasn't a single thought in his mind as to how such a victory might be possible.

And yet Belle smiled at him, as surely as if she had somehow won. "Haven't you been listening to me, Gaston? I always wanted more than this provincial life."

There was something so taunting--so _wicked_ \--in Belle's voice that Gaston's heart sank completely. She was lost to him at this point, he knew. There was nothing left of the woman he'd hoped her to be; never would he see her as the sweet, submissive wife and mother he'd so oft imagined. She was... well, worse even than a headstrong young maid destined for spinsterhood, she was now entangled in the hell-bound life (or could it even be called a life?) of such a nightmarish fiend as this.

And though she seemed to recognize the horror on Gaston's face, Belle's painted lips only grew more twisted and sinister in their smirk of amusement. He was horrified to recognize the flash of genuine malice in her eyes, and she gave him an utterly vicious look before turning her attention back to the beast and bringing her lips to its once more.

Again, that horrible rumble pierced the air like thunder, and Gaston trembled where he sat propped up against the metal bars. He didn't want to be here for this; saving Belle had clearly been the single worst mistake he had ever made. Now he would at best be forced to witness some ungodly act of apparent affection between these two unholy creatures--one, an unnaturally headstrong woman standing nude before her demonic love; and the other, an creature of pure and utter nightmare, like a devil straight from hell--and at worst...

He didn't want to think about what outcome could possibly be worst.

And then the monster spoke again, and its voice was so horrible as to make Gaston's thoughts go immediately to fear for his very soul. "Are you sure about sparing him?" the creature asked the woman that Gaston had meant to wed. "He seems the very worst of them all. I would wish to be rid of him, were I you."

Belle laughed, the sound light and tinkling and cruel. "I'm very sure," she assured them both, and only a part of Gaston was actually relieved to hear it. "As much as I do deserve to be rid of him... I think he deserves repayment more."

The creature laughed then, too, and Gaston let out a low groan of utter dread. Two pairs of eyes turned in his direction for just a single instant before turning away once again, and having attention flee from him had never once in his life been such a relief.

"You want to go through with this, then?" the beast asked, and from the sound of the question, it was one he had uttered many a time before.

"I do," Belle said with far too much cheer in her voice, and she reached up toward the beast. With a single hand stroking its furred cheek in that way a wife might stroke a husband, she gave it a reassuring smile that could not have been more petrifying to Gaston if she'd wanted it to be; he simply didn't understand what was going on before his eyes. What were the two of them planning, and how in Heaven's name was it possible for the two of them to be conspiring together so soon after the two of them supposedly clashed?

(Or, God forbid, had Maurice been mistaken all along? Perhaps Gaston had been led into a trap by the senile old man after all...)

But if Gaston had been horrified before, it was nothing compared to what he was seeing now. Before his very eyes, Belle drew her body yet closer to the beast's, and Gaston watched as she pressed her supply flesh against its bulk of fur and muscle. Her delicate lips moved against its own tusked maw, and Gaston's mind grappled with the sheer knowledge of what his senses were telling him. Belle--beautiful, eccentric Belle--had her mouth pressed to this creature's the way he had meant to kiss her on their aborted proposal-and-wedding day, and nothing could've struck more horror into his heart than that.

Belle had never been more lost to him than she was in that moment, and yet she was so completely tainted by what she had just done that Gaston couldn't even bring himself to care.

As she pressed her comparatively miniscule figure up against the massive form before her, the beast drew her into its deadly arms and pulled her close. Gaston watched her reach up onto the tips of her toes to accommodate it (Him? Could this _thing_ truly be called a 'him'?) as it kissed her, and then it lifted her clear off her feet. She giggled--actually _giggled_ like one of those swooning blonde fools from the village below--as it heaved her into its arms, and then it all but slammed her down onto the mattress beneath him.

Gaston wished more than anything that he could've torn his gaze away from the sight at hand.

But there was nothing he could do to avoid it. He watched, all but transfixed, as Belle's legs parted and her knees fell to the mattress on either side of the bulk atop her tiny form. And the sound she let out a moment later was nothing close to the scream of lost virginity he had imagined so often lately; the sound now ringing in his ears was not one of shocked submission to his sheer masculinity--it was, in fact, a cry of slightly startled _pleasure_ , the noise of a woman who was eager and ready to please a man but who had not quite been expecting so much enthusiasm.

It was the kind of sound he expected of a _whore_.

Gaston stared, his jaw hanging open like an utter imbecile as the creature fucked into the woman he had been meant to call his own. There was no chance of that now, of course; she was being thoroughly taken now, he could tell. A part of him wondered then if it would've been better for the beast's earlier blow to have killed him. There was some satisfaction, yes, in finally having seen Belle in all her naked glory... but too much of her body was obscured by the massive bulk and terrifyingly obvious genitals of the creature assaulting her, and there was something particularly awful about the sight of that massive animal's cock defiling her the way Gaston himself had meant to do.

But somehow she seemed to be enjoying it. It seemed to go on and on, each agonizing minute dragging into the next as Gaston's beastly captor rutted into the woman he had meant to make his wife. And poor Belle, now some perverse mate to an inhuman monstrosity, seemed utterly lost to wanton sin; she moaned through the assault on her flesh, and Gaston couldn't even bring himself to pretend that the sounds of her pleasure weren't driving him slowly and assuredly insane.

A woman, he knew, was _not_ meant to make sounds like that. A good woman did her duty in the bedroom; she lay back when her husband instructed her to, spread her legs, and conceived whatever children that her husband found fit to give her. But this... this was something entirely different. This was something perverse, something reversed for wicked men and their sinful whores and decidedly _not_ intended for beasts defiling beautiful maids.

(Beasts, of course, were not meant to defile anyone at all. Beasts weren't even supposed to be real.)

But as the minutes ticked past, Gaston couldn't help his flesh. He felt himself responding to the sounds of her, if not the circumstances; in spite of his restraints--in spite of even the tiny cage that he had been forced into--Gaston felt his loins stir and then stand at attention, and it took almost no time at all before he found his gaze transfixed upon her face, taking in each and every expression that flitted across her visage as the monstrous _thing_ damned her soul to hell.

She sounded downright delectable, and in any other context, Gaston would've been purely astounded to hear the sounds coming out of her gorgeous mouth. Had it been him eliciting those gorgeous moans from her lovely mouth, surely there would've been nothing damnable about them at all. But this... Lord help him, even he must truly be a monster to find anything appealing about the sights and sounds of a woman being defiled in quite this fashion.

(Even a woman as odd as Belle.)

And yet Belle's own attention was so far from Gaston as to make him feel almost entirely forgotten. Each of them seemed almost to have forgot him entirely; Belle moaned and thrashed and clung to her lover like she might otherwise sink and drown, and the beast seemed to be picking up speed and devolving into an utter frenzy that Gaston found at once familiar and utterly, damnably terrifying.

He knew quite well what the two twisted _lovers_ in front of him were on the brink of achieving, and the entire concept made his stomach sick.

The roar that shook the room when the beast finally founds its dread release was so utterly less gratifying than the scream of orgasm that slipped past Belle's lips.

And yet there Gaston was, locked into what could only be described as a _cage_ , and hard as he had ever been in his life, thanks entirely to the disgusting show of lust the two of them had provided. He was horrified with it all--with the beast's very existence, with Belle's degenerate participation, and most of all, with himself.

As he tried desperately to pretend that his flesh wasn't currently straining against the front of his breeches, eager for attention that his brain couldn't have been more horrified at the thought of it receiving, Gaston watched Belle's body fall back against the mattress. The beast itself moved more carefully, laying down against her flesh as it taking great care not to crush her. Why it didn't simply pull away from her, he didn't understand; surely it would make more sense to simply move away than to balance so awkwardly as that?

Over the mountainous shoulder of her lover, Belle grinned as her eyes met Gaston's. Her brunette curls fanned out beneath her, damp with sweat and somehow yet another strange temptation; a part of him wanted nothing more than to twist his fingers into that luscious hair and _pull_... and the mere of doing so prompted a thought even worse: of fingers doing just the same to his own ebony locks.

Seconds ticked past, and Belle kept smiling.

It was only then that Gaston realized why she wasn't moving away from her lover, or that her lover wasn't moving away from her.

This thing--this _beast_ \--was a horrible mix of creatures. An unholy amalgamation of everything from lions to bears to wolves... and just like the dogs that Gaston had so oft used to hunt, it held its mate in place until done.

And as Gaston struggled to fight the rising way of revulsion in his gut, Belle's eyes glittered darkly in his direction.

"Do you know what I think, Gaston?" she asked finally, her gentle, wicked voice piercing the quiet dark. He didn't dare respond. "I think you were right before. Or close to right, at least."

Gaston stared. He had no idea what she meant to say; between them, it was clear that at least one of them had lost their mind. (And, honestly, a part of himself even hoped that it might be him.) "What?" was the only question that he could bring his lips to speak.

"I think six or seven is a good number, after all!" Belle said, biting her lip and giggling as if she had the best secret in all the world.

 _What?_ Gaston wanted to ask again, and yet he was sure now that he didn't want to know the answer.

"I think you _should_ have six or seven!" She said it with such conviction that it made Gaston's head spin. _What was she talking about?_

But she only laughed at the look of confusion on his face, and her eyes flicked unabashedly down at the bulge in his pants. "Princes, Gaston! You wanted boys." She laughed again, cold and cruel. "But how would you feel about strapping young _princes_ instead?"

Above her, the beast stirred, and in that instant, everything--the cage, the show, all of it--clicked into place.

And as the Beast turned to give him its own horrible smirk, Gaston fought against the beginning of his very first scream.

It would certainly not be his last.


End file.
